In memory of Deana
In memory of
Deana
These slightly altered lines are from
the first and final stanzas
of a rare and treasured 1888 volume
that I keep on my desk.
The Death of the Flowers
by
William Cullen Bryant
The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year,
Of wailing winds, and naked woods, and
meadows brown and sere . . .
And then I think of one who in her youthful beauty died,
The fair meek blossom that grew up and faded by my side.
In the cold moist earth we laid her, when the forests cast the leaf,
And we wept that one so lovely should have a life so brief.